If Philip Glass, John Cage, and a half-broken Splice sample pack had a baby in the back alley of a discoteca at 4 AM, this track would be its chaotic yet oddly comforting lullaby. Composed in 2024 with the patience of a goldfish, this piece is less about structure and more about the beautiful randomness of memory—like trying to piece together last night’s adventures while the distant echoes of the party still flicker in your brain.
There’s a faint influence of Sittin’ on the Dock of the Bay in here (because apparently, I listened to it before making this), but don’t expect anything as polished. Instead, expect unexpected moments, a ping sound that cost me my sanity to find, and the kind of meandering energy that only makes sense if you have ADD and need constant sonic surprises to stay engaged.
Maybe it's a girl on a walk, still slightly tipsy, looking for her dog, following strange sounds down unfamiliar streets, thinking—just for a moment—there's no place like home.
It’s an exploration of basic editing—emphasis on "basic"—because patience is a virtue I do not possess. But somehow, through sheer lack of precision, this track might just be the perfect soundtrack for your post-party boulevard stroll, when the night is fading, the streetlights blur, and you’re left chasing fragments of a great time.
Classically trained with piano in my youth, I later studied jazz singing. Along the way, I dabbled with the theremin and developed a love for all things percussion and raw, objet trouvé sounds. My influences range from hauntology to shoegaze, dream pop, and soulful indie pop-rock, with a tinge of the beauty of simple acoustic sounds and a dash of alt- R&B soul.